


It's Like Destiny

by Mother_Of_Hedgehogs



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Andy x Quynh, Booker x Copley, Bottom Nicky, Everybody is gay, F/F, Heir/Poet/Painter Joe, Inmortal husbands, Is NOT omegaverse, Lots of Original Characters - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of past domestic violence, Model/Influencer/Chef Nicky, More tags will be added later, Nicky has a lot of feral fans, Nobody want them to be together, The medias are bullshit, The timelines are a mess at the begening just to give it emotion, They are i n l o v e, joe x nicky - Freeform, kaysanova, kinda forbbiden love, mentions of mpreg, top joe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_Of_Hedgehogs/pseuds/Mother_Of_Hedgehogs
Summary: ["And on the hot note of the day! The heir and most wanted bachelor of the world, Yusuf al-Kaysani, owner of many hearts, has been spotted sharing a very romantic kiss with a young man at St. James's park in London! According to a close source, the couple has been together for about a year now! Can you believe it?  So, I'm sorry to tell you this, but, ladies and gentlemen, the man of our dreams seems to be officially out of the market."Oh my God! I definitely wasn’t expecting that! But who is this man anyway?""Well, my source told me that maybe that Italian model, the one who was involved in the Keane Williams situation, remember?""Oh well, that’s a whole new level of craziness for Joe, and a bigger prize for the Italian boy!"]
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/James Copley, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 91





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I've been working on this for a few weeks, doing research, and trying to make a good job, so I hope you like it. I have to clarify something first. 
> 
> *Mentions of domestic violence: did happen in the past and you will see snippets of it in a few chapters, then would not be mentioned again. I'm trying not to put anything graphic, but still, be careful with the reading if you find this uncomfortable.  
> *Mentions of mpreg: this means that if a gay couple has children, one of them gave it birth, that's all. I don't use any excuse for this, in 99% of my fics men can have babies too and it's part of nature.  
> Probably will add more tags and clarifying info as the chapters come, but for now, that's the most important thing you need to know.
> 
> A warning: this is not a fic full of sex, but it has some, so, IF YOU DON'T LIKE TOP JOE, GET AWAY. I will not tolerate any negative comments referring to such subject, or people attacking one another.  
> Read and write whatever you want to read and write, and let others do the same. This is fiction, just enjoy!
> 
> [All mistakes are mine, yell at me in private if you want]

**Prologue**

**November 14th, 2021. London, England**

  
  


Marcus was frustrated, more than frustrated, anxious, desperate, wanting to jump off the first bridge that came along. 

It was Sunday, and it was the most disgusting weekend of his life. It had been raining since the night before, the temperature had dropped suddenly, and his damn thermostat had died; his upstairs neighbours had spent the whole night having sex, probably to warm up, and it had only reminded him that he hadn't had sex for over four months. One imbecile had thought it was funny to throw the most outrageous party of the century in the middle of the night, and the dirty windows of his tiny flat had been vibrating all night with the beat of the music that, even from across the street, was fucking loud.

As if that wasn't enough, his boss had been pressing him relentlessly, either he got a good damn note or he was going to fire him, and damn him if he let them fire him. He needed that job, even if the pay was a pittance, it was the best he could get. So looking for ways to make himself useful, he had spent hours surfing around Instagram and Twitter, looking for something, anything, a drama among some celebrities, a politician in the world making stupid comments, a rumor about some movie or series that everyone was waiting for, anything at all, but all that he found were videos of K-pop singers and people discussing on Twitter and celebrities talking about their pets and what they were going to do on their holiday on Instagram. He had found nothing useful, until he saw a hundred of photos of Joe al-Kaysani at Prince William's most recent charity event, which he had said he would not attend, with Aleksandra Solovyov on his bloody arm.

He had set off at once, warning his boss of the note he was going to publish the next morning, but in the midst of contacting his sources to request the photos and write the note that was to accompany them under an ingenious, title that would definitely fuel the rumours of a relationship between the two tycoons, his boss had sent him, as a slap in the face the note that the damned from  _ "The Sun" _ had already published, together with a threatening message assuring him that if he did not get anything better than that, he would cut off his balls and fire him. Well, only to fire him, but cutting off his balls was implicit.

So there he was, outside his flat, walking in the rain, with his umbrella full of holes and the camera hanging on his chest as he walked around St. James's Park thinking about the speech he would give to his boss to try to prevent the man from firing him. He would have to resort to pity with the speech of  _ "my mother is dying in the hospital, and I need the work and money to be able to afford it" _ . He had used it before, and it usually worked, it made him feel like an idiot for playing with his mother's name that was already dead many years ago, but a man had to do what he had to do. 

In the midst of his rage and self-pity, he did not realize there was a huge puddle in front of him until he was knee-deep in it. He cursed quietly, stumbling out of it, ruminating on his misfortune and screaming to the heavens in his head to be struck down by lightning and killed at once, when a mocking laugh caught his attention. He looked up, ready to shout a few things at the idiot who dared to mock him, but his gaze froze on the couple walking in front of him.

The dim afternoon light was barely enough to let him make out the silhouettes, and the shadow that the huge black umbrella one of them was holding didn't help at all, but he was sure as if his name was Marcus and that he was a miserable, starving reporter, that the man in front of him, who was holding around the waist while he gave the other man a passionate kiss, was none other than bloody Joe, Yusuf al-Kaysani, the man who was about to make him rich. 

He was wearing a black coat that almost reached the ground and completely enveloped him, and a ridiculous beret that overshadowed his face, yet it was him, no doubt. 

Without waiting another second he closed the umbrella, not caring about the rain, and went to the nearest tree, hiding behind it so he could take his camera and focus it on the couple, praying that they would not notice and ruin the shot, he managed to capture the kiss just a second before they parted, with smiles on their faces and making eyes of love. Joe let go of the man's waist with one hand and raised to caress his face, fiddling with his hair before giving him a little tap on the tip of his nose, which his camera captured perfectly. The other man laughed out loud at something Joe had told him and turned his face just enough for him to see it better, still, the movement was too fast to capture him well with his camera, but it didn't matter, he knew who he was, he had recognized him right away. The couple continued their walking and Joe grabbed the other guy's hand and pulled him close to him, which he again captured with his lens. 

He returned to his flat, almost in flight, laughing like a maniac all the way to his computer, which he wasted no time opening and connecting to the camera to transfer the photos. He had managed to take several, some looking terrible, however, the most important one, the one that showed Joe's profile while he kissed his companion with all his soul, looked perfect. 

"Yes, yes, YES!" He shouted with all the joy he was capable of while dancing on his chair. "Thank you, Joe, you just saved my life, my friend. Unfortunately, you are about to get yours upside-down." He shrugged his shoulders without leaving his smile, and took his phone, looking with trembling hands for his boss's number to warn him of the bomb he was about to drop, but the name of  _ "Louisa Jones" _ under his boss's name stopped him. 

He looked back at the computer, pursing his lips in a thoughtful grimace. 

He could either do the story and give his little newspaper another month of life for being the first to publish the news about the new courtship of the world's most coveted man, or, he could tell his boss to go fuck himself and make a deal with a national network show that would definitely give him more success and money than the old toad could give him. He had made deals with Louisa before, and the woman paid well, but it had been small news that the world forgot about every week, but this one, this one was huge, people would talk about this for months, he could definitely get more than a few euros, maybe even a job at the TV station.

With that thought in mind, he dialed Louisa's number and waited until she answered.

"Hey Louisa, I hope you're sitting down because I have some news for you.

" _ If it's another gossip about the Prime Minister, forget it. _ "

"Oh no, it's much better than that."

" _ What could it be then? _ "

"I have an exclusive on Joe al-Kaysani... and his new boyfriend."

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Louisa smiled big, full of satisfaction, giving Marcus a look across the room, while he was watching intently from behind the cameras. The man standing next to his boss, sticking out his chest proudly like a bloody superhero, had given her the news of the century, and her bank account would thank him very much for that. 

The lights flashed and the countdown for the end of the commercials started, a few seconds later the music and images of his next section were projected. Andrew settled down on the other sofa in front of her, waiting for the go to be given. Her partner had been pestering her to tell him about the news, but she had remained stoic; it was her time to shine and she would not reveal it to anyone until the right moment, and that was now.

"We are back, and finally with our favourite section."

"That's right my friend because today we have some spicy news for you. Larry Bates and Sarah Frank announced that they are getting divorced, after only  _ two years _ of marriage!"

"I can't say we didn't see it coming, Andrew. They were very tense on the birthday of Larry's best friend. Plus, a little bird told us exclusively that Sarah might have cheated on Larry with one of her co-stars from her latest Netflix series".

"I wouldn't be surprised Lou, after the scandal with the photos on Bryan Figg’s yacht three years ago. It's more surprising that she managed to marry Larry in the first place."

Louisa nodded absently, giving a brief glance to her boss, who only nodded from afar, giving her the green light.

"That's right Andrew, but that’s not all. On the hot note of the day!... The heir and most wanted bachelor of the world, Yusuf al-Kaysani, owner of many hearts, has been spotted sharing a very romantic kiss with a young man at St. James's park in London!" She almost shouted, returning to his gigantic smile of pure happiness as the photo Marcus had taken was projected onto the screen behind them. 

Andrew in front of her choked on his spit and a moan of amazement ran through the room as everyone watched the photo in disbelief. 

"According to a close source, the couple has been together for about a year now! Can you believe it?" She asked with feigned disbelief. "So, I'm sorry to tell you this, but, ladies and gentlemen, the man of our dreams seems to be officially out of the market." 

"Oh my God! I definitely wasn't expecting that!" Andrew shrieked as he managed to regain his composure. "But who is this man anyway?" He asked with a scowl. 

"Well, my source told me that may be that Italian model, the one who was involved in the Keane Williams situation, remember?" She said, and a couple of pictures of the aforementioned model were projected on the screen. "It may not look good in the picture, but you can see the resemblance."

"Oh well, that's a whole new level of craziness for Joe and a bigger prize for the Italian boy! He definitely caught a bigger fish this time, smart guy." Andrew laughed, winking at the camera. 

"I don't think the world is ready for this Andrew, but as you saw, here are the proofs, Yusuf al-Kaysani and his new boyfriend, Niccolò Cannizzaro, enjoying a walk on the rainy streets of London last night." 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The car stopped at the entrance of the private boarding lounge of the airport and Lykon got out right away, pushing the reporters who crowded around the car away. He held the door handle for a second, hesitating, and then, with a sigh, opened it, immediately sliding behind it to avoid the reporters who rushed at his boss the second he got out of the car. Alec, Karim, and George surrounded them at once, locking their boss among them as they entered the airport.

The shouts did not wait, thousands of questions were thrown into the air, microphones interrupted in the space between him and his security body, and the flashes of the cameras pointing to his face combined with the firm shout of the airport personnel demanding the people backed off immediately. 

Joe clenched the strap of his bag in his fist and placed his cap over his head, keeping his eyes on the ground to avoid making eye contact with anyone and ignoring the screams and questions thrown in his ear. Lykon's hand on his back was pushing him to keep walking in the space that Alec was clearing between pushing and threatening looks. He looked up briefly to look around, and his heart dropped to his stomach as he saw the hundreds of reporters and fans crowding into the boarding lounge that was supposed to be reserved just for him and his staff.

The airport staff had warned them that because of the repairs they were making they simply could not enter the landing strip directly, so he had to pay for the tickets of an entire flight to reserve a boarding lounge so they could pass through discreetly. Nothing had worked, of course, and the director had warned them five minutes before they arrived that a crowd of people had rioted and demanded that they be allowed to transit to the hall where Joe and his staff would be passing. The airport director had apologized and Joe understood, however, the large number of people only added to his panic. 

The screams diminished as they walked through the hall and approached the doors that would take them to the landing strip where his private plane was waiting. He looked back for a second and exhaled a sigh of relief when he saw the crowd of well-armed security guards blocking the people's way. Lykon pushed him to walk faster, still cramped among his huge bodyguards, who did not leave his side until he hurried up the steps to the inside of the plane. 

Lykon immediately started shouting orders, and Yusuf dropped down to the nearest seat when he was finally inside. His men scattered, taking his suitcase with them and leaving him alone for a moment as they took off. He released all the air in his lungs with a long sigh, and with trembling fingers reached for his phone in the inner pocket of his jacket, sliding his fingers across the screen to dial the number he knew by heart. 

It began to ring, and as the seconds passed without the call being taken, he felt his anxiety increase. His eyes filled with tears and he squeezed them tightly to hold them back when he went to voicemail just like the last thirty times he had tried to call. He cursed quietly and banged his head against the back of the seat, hanging up and dialing again. When the voicemail received him again, he had no choice. 

"Niccolò, my love, please answer me, we need to talk. Please. You can't leave me like this, answer me, _amore_." The voice mail beeped again and the call was cut off. Joe puts the phone down and dropped it on the table in front of him with an angry grunt. 

"Shit, shit, shit!" He shouted in frustration, pulling his cap off his head to throw it away from him. He rubbed his face with his hands as he continued to curse in every language he knew, his heart aching and tears finally running down his cheeks.

"I think saying I told you so is out of place now."

"Lykon please, not now." He mumbled between his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Yusuf, but I warned you something like this would happen."

"I know! I know, ok?" He screamed, seeing his security chief with hate through his tears. "I know I fucked up, I screwed up everything and... Damn it Lykon! he doesn't want to talk to me!" He groaned, unable to stop the sobs from escaping his chest. He pulled his hair tightly, choking on his sobs in desperation.

Lykon frowned in an uncomfortable grimace, he had never seen his boss like that before, and to tell the truth, he was worried.

"You have to give him a moment. This is too much for Nicky. I assure you that he will call you soon, and you will be able to fix things." He told him, trying to calm him down.

"You think so?" Joe asked, seeing the man standing in front of him, his eyes shining with some vague hope. Lykon swallowed uncertainly, yet remained stoic and nodded. 

"These things take time, not everyone can cope with something like this, but Nicky is strong, he'll understand, you'll see. But for now, that's the least of your problems."

Joe blinked away the tears, breathing shakily as he wiped the humidity from his cheeks with his fingers, ordering himself to keep it together.

"What do you mean by that?" Asked frowning. 

"Your father called. He wants to see you as soon as we land."

_ Well, fuck! _

  
  
  
  
  


_ To be continued... _


	2. I: who is Niccolò Cannizzaro?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niccolò Cannizzaro, 29 years old, Genoa, Italy
> 
> The dreaming peasant.  
> Innocent, sweet, hopeful, lonely and a bit nerdy. Cat and succulents father, model, professional chef, instagramer barely known to the world, who spends his days in front of the camera, doing photoshoots or creating new recipes for his Instagram followers.  
> Big hearted, terribly lucky in love. So scared of being hurt again, who never in his life expected to fall for a man like that, a wet dream come to life, tailor made for him and yet so out of his league, but that seems to love him like the sun loves the moon, enough to share his light and love with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit!! Can't believe how much love this received!!! Thank you so much for the reading, the kudos and everything else!!
> 
> Now, first chapter!!! It took me a long time to write it, and I did a lot of research to try to make it more interesting and specific, I also don't speak neither french nor Italian, so, sorry if I fucked up, I used a translator.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you like it!!! 
> 
> [All mistakes are mine, come yell at me in private if you want]

**I**

  
  


**August 20, 2019. Milan, Italy.**

  
  


The white lights were too strong, the water sliding down his naked skin was too cold, and the white cloth he had been given to cover himself up a bit, was too thin and had his nerves on the edge. 

"Yeah, like that, turn a little more to the camera, that's it." The photographer pointed to him, and he obeyed, turning his body a little more to allow his naked profile to be photographed. He threw his head back, with his lips half-open and his eyes half-closed, looking sideways towards the camera. His right arm felt numb after so much time stretching backwards in an arc holding his body weight. His legs were bent, with his knees upward approaching his chest. It was a terribly uncomfortable position, and with every movement, he had to make sure that the long cloth pressed against his chest with his left hand, was covering his crotch in the right way. 

"Beautiful. Now I want you to lie down and arch your back, soft and sensual, you know how." 

He nodded immediately and slowly let himself fall backwards. The fabric tightened as he stretched his legs and arched his back, leaning on his butt to keep his balance as he lowered his arms to caress his chest. He pursed his lips more, almost letting out a moan to give him more realism, and closed his eyes with an expression of feigned ecstasy when more cold as fuck water fell on him. 

"Perfect! That's it guys, we got it." The creative director shouted out with a loud applause to be heard. 

The lights went out and an assistant came running up to him with a robe in his hands. With a relieved sigh he straightened up, forcing himself to stand up despite the tingling on his limbs and the slight shivers that ran through him from the cold.

"Grazie mille, Emma." He thanked the woman with a small smile, handing her the wet cloth to be able to wrap himself in the robe, letting her see for a second the total nakedness of his humanity, which made her redden like a tomato. 

The woman walked away taking the cloth with her, and he, now wrapped up under the fluffy cloth of the robe, ran out of the huge puddle of cold water in which he had been lying for the last hour. 

"Nicky, that was incredible! Brilliant as always." Shouted the director, opening his arms so that the alluded one curled up between them for a brief hug. He bent over the man and let him put his arms around him for a few seconds before turning away, his teeth chattering as he gave him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, James. I'm glad you enjoyed the shooting."

"Oh, it was perfect Nicky! We definitely need to do more of these sexy shootings. You looked wonderful up there." He praised the man, giving him an up and down look that made Niccolò feel a little uncomfortable. "You'll make more than one person very happy with that cover, my love, if you know what I mean." The blond man winked at him with a hint of a smile, and Nico chuckled, tightening his robe around him as the man's big, heavy hand caressed his arm, from his shoulder to his wrist, sliding the fabric down and squeezing his hand as his black eyes dug into him.

"I don't know about that, James, but it sure was fun."

"More than that, honey..."

"Enough, James, let the boy put on some clothes he's going to catch a cold." The photographer interrupted by approaching them. Niccolò sighed and gave him a grateful look, before sliding away from the director's grip and running into the small room that served as his dressing room.

He hurriedly dressed and wiped his eyeliner off his eyes as best he could before fleeing the scene, barely stopping to thank the photographer and arrange with James the date for the interview that would accompany the shoot he had just done. 

He stepped out into the bustle of the downtown streets and walked at a brisk pace to the Stazione di Milano Centrale a few blocks away, to catch the subway that would take him to his home in Lambrate. 

The station was bursting at the seams, and when he finally managed to get into the car, he looked for a seat far away, where he could make himself a little ball, hiding under his sweatshirt from curious looks, with his headphones well placed in his ears and the music at 100% to ignore the conversations around him.

His best friend constantly teased him about how simple his life would be if he could get a car to transport himself instead of riding around in the stinky subway cars. He knew he was right, especially now that his face was well known in the country, yet he preferred to use the subway or train as much as he could, not only to save a few euros but because it made him feel more human and not so much like a celebrity with eight million followers on Instagram. 

The Lambrate station was not so crowded for his luck, and in a few minutes, he was in the streets of his small neighborhood, walking the few hundred meters that separated him from his old apartment building. He turned the corner of his street and looking both ways he crossed to the other side of the street, jogging to his favorite coffee shop in search of a very cold fruit smoothie and a sandwich for lunch. He should beat himself up for preferring to buy prepared, mass-packaged food instead of cooking something like the stupid chef he was, but after eating the huge pot of risotto he had prepared the previous afternoon by himself -just because the previous video had mysteriously been erased and his fans wanted to see his recipe again-, he just wanted something simple and light. 

It wasn't really a big deal, simply after having spent a long time preparing the dish following to the letter the generic recipe he had been taught at the gastronomy school, he had invented his own, changing some spices here and there to give it a taste of its own. 

With that in mind, he didn't feel like eating typical Italian food, so a sandwich in the purest English style that they created to make the tourists feel at home, and a huge glass of fruit drink that had only the name of real fruit, would be enough for lunch. He could go back to the real kitchen tomorrow, when he shot a new video about  _ Nicky style German food _ , as he did every Thursday, or well, on Thursdays when he had time. 

He nodded to the security guard of the building who was asleep in his chair by the entrance gate, and turned left to walk down the corridor of black and red tiles that had been missing pieces for decades. He raised his hand in greeting the little boy of his neighbor next door, who was playing on the grass in the building's inner garden and ran up the wide stairs to the third floor, where his cozy apartment was located. 

He turned to the right on his side of the corridor and waved to Maria and Franco who were chatting, sitting on the white balustrade with missing pieces -like everything else in that damned building over a hundred years old- with their backs to the garden and the sun. He walked past them to the fourth and last door in the corridor, the one to his apartment. The number 22 glowed in silver at the top of the door, which at one point was blue, and the hinges squeaked with a spooky moan when he pushed the door into the apartment with force, pulling it off the floor where it always stuck because of the irregularity in the tiles that had been raised from how old they were, creating a slope where the movement of the door had already created lines of wear. 

He kicked the door shut and left the keys hanging on the wooden key ring shaped like the map of Italy that his father had made for him long ago. A happy meow and a couple of knocks let him know that his housemate was aware of his return, before the cheerful cat appeared in the living room and jumped on his legs purring.

"Ciao amore mio! Did you miss me, baby? Did you miss Daddy, you beautiful thing?" He cooed as he watched his precious cat sway with him as he took short steps to the dining table in the center of the room that served as his living and dining room, to put down his food. He unhooked his backpack from his shoulders and left it on the floor next to the table, so he could bend down and pick up the cat and press it against his chest. "Oh yes, you missed me, tesoro! Daddy missed you too, my beautiful baby." He whispered through the cat's fur as he started to give him kisses on his head and tickle his belly. 

The cat tapped his fingers with his paws and moved his head away from him, arching his body in disgust, even though Nico knew it was pure theater as the animal was too spoiled and loved his father's hugs and kisses. He held the kitten in his arms like a baby and stroked the soft fur of his belly for a few more seconds before giving him a big kiss on the head and letting him go. The cat seemed to sigh in relief and ran to the sliding door to the balcony, meowing for his father to open it. Nico sighed with amusement and went to open the door, letting the animal out to curl up in his old red armchair and bask in the sun, as he had been waiting all morning to do.

He left the door open and returned to the living room, taking off his sweater that was full of cat hair, like most of his clothes, and left it on the couch to go wash his hands to have his lunch. 

Once his stomach was full, he retrieved his backpack from the floor and after locking the door walked to his room in the narrow corridor that separated the two bedrooms of the apartment from the rest of the place. He hurriedly undressed to get into the shower, taking his phone with him, which he left in the corner of the sink surface, with the loud music he hummed while taking a shower. He was in the middle of rinsing the last traces of soap from his body when the music cut out abruptly, and the tone of a new message repeated three times replaced it. He frowned and turned off the water so he could open the glass doors and check his phone.

On the notification tab, he saw a couple of emails from his agent that he had been ignoring since yesterday and a new one from someone named Dizzy Hamilton. He frowned and closed the door so he could finish washing. He got out of the shower and quickly dried off, wrapping a towel around his waist and another in his hair. He washed his face with his special soap and once he was ready, he returned to the room to hurry up and get dressed in his favorite silk pajamas so he could check what the unknown email -that was read in the subject space as  _ urgent _ \- was about. 

He settled down in the center of the bed in the lotus position and slid through his Gmail, finally opening the message, squinting suspiciously when he realized that the message had arrived at his personal address and not the one he was using for work. Very few people had his private email, which he used to subscribe to platforms like Netflix and for his backups if someone decided to hack him.

> _ From: Dizzy Hamilton (hamilton.d@thenilecompany.com.us) _
> 
> _ To: nico_cn1099@gmail.com _
> 
> _ Dear Mr. Cannizaro. _
> 
> _ It is a pleasure for us at The Nile Company to extend an invitation to you to be part of our fashion show for the Milan Fashion Week of this year.  _
> 
> _ For more details please contact us at the following number: _
> 
> _ 001 312 385 6625 _
> 
> _ Dizzy Hamilton.  _

"What the fuck?"

More confused than before, he left the app and entered to google search immediately, typing the name of the person who had written to him, immediately looking for a LinkedIn that would tell him if this person existed or not. His eyebrows raised almost touching his hairline when he read the profile that appeared. Well, apparently there was a Dizzy Hamilton working for The Nile Company, as the personal assistant of the CEO of the company. 

He looked at the time on his phone calculating if it would be a decent time to call, and with nothing to lose he bent over to pick up the landline from the bedside table to make the call. If this was some kind of joke he was going to be very upset. Calling to the other side of the world wasn't cheap, and even if he wasn't starving and had more than enough money to pay his phone bills, he wouldn't be very happy to spend a few good euros to get scammed. 

" _ Good morning, thank you for calling to The Nile Company _ ." The monotonous voice of some receptionist answered. 

"Uh, yes, good morning... Uh, I-I'd like to speak to Dizzy Hamilton, please." Hee greeted him with a stutter. His damn English was off, he needed to practice more. 

_ "Miss Dizzy is very busy at the moment, you can leave a message." _

"Oh, that's all right. Can you tell her that Niccolò Cannizaro called to inquire about the email she sent me, please?"

_ "Of course, I'll let her know as soon as I can. Anything else I can help you with?" _

"No, no, grazie. Bye!" He said goodbye and hung up the call immediately.

He returned the phone to its base and stood there for a minute, frozen in the air.

The Nile Company was an extremely successful company that everyone wanted to work with. Created by Nile Freeman, a young fashion student in the garage of her home in Chicago; she had started selling her creations to her friends until she managed to set up her own store. Men and women of Chicago's high society had become interested in her creations and from there she had projected herself like a missile. Ten years later, the entrepreneur had a world-renowned brand, with luxury stores around the world. Her pieces were displayed in the silhouettes of a multitude of celebrities and marching on the best catwalks in the world. Her dresses and suits sold for thousands of dollars. She had designed exclusive pieces for the millionaires of the planet, one of her most recent successes had been the wedding dress in gold and a disgusting amount of precious stones that she had designed for the niece of the king of Jordan.

The woman was a bloody legend, and she wanted Nicky to model for her in the fucking Milano,  _ on his first catwalk _ .

Without wanting to think about it more than necessary so as not to get anxious, he took the towel off his head, shaking his hair with it and then throwing it in the laundry basket that had started to spill over the sides. He stared at the clothes, hoping that his laser look, which he had been practicing all his life, would finally work and destroy the clothes so he wouldn't have to take them down to the basement to pile them up in one of the old washing machines that would probably puncture his shirts. 

He pressed his lips in a pot and went to get a clean T-shirt from his drawer full of his dad's clothes, as his best friend called them. 

_ "You have a closet full of expensive, sexy clothes, and you decide to wear these old things that don't fit anyone. I'm a dad and I wouldn't even think about wearing one of those disgusting things _ ." He had told him once while snooping around in his closet as Nico arranged the pieces that the last designer he had done a shooting for had given him. 

_ "Your husband would probably wear them." H _ e had replied, earning himself a death blow to the face with one of the new cotton shirts that had huge metal buttons that almost took his eyes out.

With a long resigned sigh, he picked up the clothes and pressed them into the basket to take them to the laundry. He put his cell phone in one of the pockets of his pants and put his feet in his slippers to pick up the basket later. He looked ridiculous and homely and not at all like the decently paid model he was, but he didn't care, everyone in the building knew him, he had been living there for the last eight years, they had seen him in his best clothes to go to an event, and in his worst facades when got rejected from some job, drunk and smelling like piss. 

"Stay here, daddy will be back soon." He ordered Ravioli while putting his keys, lighter, and cigarette pack in his pocket before leaving the apartment.

Luckily for him, the washing machines over twenty years old were all empty, and after dropping all the clothes into one of them and putting in more detergent than necessary, he went back up to the first floor, walking along the small stones path in the inner garden, to sit on the fountain that had been out of service for years, to smoke a cigarette while waiting for his clothes to be ready to dry. 

It was a bad habit he had, and someone with his job shouldn't have it, because he was always supposed to be healthy, looking presentable and not like a drug-addicted who got anxious if he didn't have his dose of drugs in his hands, but he couldn't help it. He had developed that vice a couple of years ago, when his life had been turned upside down by the most destructive whirlwind he had ever faced, and he couldn't stop after that. 

He exhaled the cigarette smoke and looked at his hands crossed in his lap, clenching his jaw to the long scar that decorated his right palm. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


**January 18th, 1997. Boccadasse, Genova, Italy.**

Blue, all he could see was blue. He narrowed his eyes and forced his gaze, trying to observe the world beyond, yet all he could see was the blue of the sea. The fresh sea wind of mid-January had ruffled his hair and reddened his nose; his hands curled up under thick woolen gloves, clutched the small wooden boat in his fist. 

He placed the toy on the flat rock at his eyes level, closing one so he could see better, moving it into the right position so that it touched the surface of the water. From where the boat was, it looked immense, like one of those his father had told him had sailed hundreds of years ago from that same port to travel halfway across the ocean to find a new world. As he watched the paper sails attached to the delicate stick that worked as a mast, he wondered if one day he would do the same, if he would get on a ship and sail towards the horizon, until he reached a new and fantastic world, from which he would return with enough wealth to buy a very big house and a lot of food, and with stories full of adventures like the ones Papá told him at bedtime. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he could imagine himself at sea, staggering in the middle of a ship, with saltwater splashing on his face and the screams of the sailors in his ears. 

Yes, someday he would get on one of those ships where explorers traveled and go out to the sea, to seek his and his father's fortune, so they would never have to worry about money again.

"Nico, son, come on, it's late!"

The little boy opened his squinted eyes and retrieved his small ship, running and tripping over the rocks on the shore to where his dad was waiting with open arms to catch him in the air when he jumped at him. 

"What have you been doing, Piccolino? Look at you, you're all flushed. Come on, let's go home and get you warm before you catch a cold."

Niccolo hugged his father, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist, looking through the man's uncombed hair into the ocean, seeing blue and more blue only. 

"I see you liked your boat, tesoro." 

"Sì papà!" he shrieked in his ear, squeezing the little toy tightly, making sure he wouldn't drop it. The man smiled contentedly and pressed the little boy to his chest. "Someday, I will be big and go away in a real one, and I will come back with many treasures for both of us." 

"I know, amore, but in the meantime, you and I will keep working on the port, getting huge fish, alright?"

"Sì papà!"

The way to their small apartment was short, going up a few hundred meters through the narrow streets of the hill towards the old and faded building where Signora Vittoria had rented them a room. Nico loved his little house. It was at the top of the building on the hill, and from the window, he could see the port and the ocean. They had no doors, and the curtain that separated their room from the rest of the house, was not enough to prevent the noise that Signora Vittoria's husband made with his shoe sewing machines from waking them up very early in the morning. The walls were colorless and missing pieces, where Nico would stick his fingers and nails into the dust when he got bored playing in his narrow, squeaky cot on the days when his father left him at home when he went to work at the port. The bed was hard and made scary noises, the blankets were thin, and he had to crawl under his dad's arms and snuggle up like a little chicken to escape the cold. There wasn't always food, so sometimes he would go to bed with only a glass of water in his stomach. His clothes no longer fit, and his father had patched his pants so many times in the last two years that there was no place left to make a new seam.

They didn't have much, almost nothing, but Nico loved everything they had, and above all, he loved being with his dad. He loved hugging the man, having him caress his hair while he told him stories of pirates before going to sleep, having him carve beautiful toys with the pieces of wood he found when he escaped from his father's care in the port; but above all, he loved that he hadn't left him as mamma did. 

  
  
  


**April 6th, 2002**

  
  
  


There was a new hole in his shoes, Nico noticed. It was the fifth hole, however, this time, there would be no one to repair it. 

He looked up a little, seeing through the long locks that fell over his eyes at the people gathered around the grave. Not many people had come, Signor Salvatore did not have many friends, and those he did have were poor drunks like him. He did not have much family either, and besides his wife, Signora Vittoria, his two children had not wanted to come to say goodbye to their father. 

A hand squeezed his shoulder, and Nico looked over his shoulder at his father's citrine face. The man looked tired, sad, defeated. Nico knew why, the last time they had been in a cemetery, it was just the two of them, and on the wet earth of the grave, his father had promised him that he would never have to see anyone die again. Nico knew that this was not a promise the man could easily keep. Death does not warn before arriving, ask Signor Salvatore if not. 

The pastor finished his prayers and threw holy water on the grave. His father moved and pushed Niccolò back towards the weeping Signora Vittoria, who clung to his shoulders, sobbing into his hair. His father and three more men took the thick ropes and lifted the coffin, slowly lowering it to the hole dug in the ground before two more men started throwing earth with a shovel. Signora Vittoria released him to approach the tomb, throwing a red rose with a sob. 

Death had suddenly come to Signor Salvatore when Niccolò and his father had been living with them for five years. A few months before, he had suffered a heart attack, the doctors said he would recover, however, he needed a heart surgery which they could not afford. He had improved in those months, returning to his job as a shoemaker, teaching Nico about poetry and stories about L'impero Romano that he was sure were mostly made up, playing cards with his father while smoking a cigarette, while Nico and Signora Vittoria baked pies with the strawberries that Nico had gone to pick deep in the forest beyond the hills. 

One morning, he simply hadn't woken up. 

Three years later, Signora Vittoria followed. At the reading of the will, the woman had left her small apartment to Niccolò and his father. It was more than anyone had ever done for them.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


**March 25th, 2013. Lyon, France.**

  
  
  


The crowd shouted in chorus when the couple standing under the huge arch of white roses, approached and finally kissed. The applause and screams were deafening, and the baby in his lap was shaking, pouting with tearful eyes, frightened by the sudden noise. Hee stood up with the others and swung the child in his arms, squeezing him to his chest to try to calm him down and prevent him from breaking into a loud cry, smiling big and trying to hold back the tears of happiness that wanted to escape as he saw his friend hanging on to his now husband's neck, kissing him as if there were no tomorrow.

The couple finally parted, with loving smiles on their faces as they hugged at the waist, turning to watch their audience. They walked down the steps that separated them from the audience and were immediately surrounded by their relatives who were waiting in the front row to embrace them and congratulate them.

"Where's my baby?" His best friend asked, raising his voice above the crowd, and Nico moved immediately out of his seat in the second row to get into the group and hand the child to his father. 

His friend smiled tearfully when he saw him and caught him in a tight embrace with the baby in the middle, surrounding him tightly as he laughed and sobbed in his ear. Nico hugged him back, full of happiness and pride in seeing his best friend in the whole world fulfill his dream of finally marrying the man of his life.

"Congratulations, Sébastien." He whispered in his ear before he had to let go of him to let others congratulate him too. He turned away from the crowd to return to his place, wiping tears from his cheeks with his fingers. A woman unwittingly pushed him, and he tripped over his own feet, pushing an approaching person and barely managing to hold on to the back of a chair before falling on it and making a fool of himself more than he had already done. 

"Hey there, careful!" The person laughed, holding him by his forearm to help him steady himself on his feet. He looked up in surprise, giving the man an embarrassed look and whispering a thank you. Niccolò barely gave him a glance, feeling too embarrassed to look him in the eye, but was able to catch the huge smile behind the half-gray beard, before the man disappeared into the crowd. 

The attendants and the newly married couple moved into one of the luxurious rooms of the old Victorian mansion that belonged to his friend's family, and which they had converted into an event hall for this type of family celebration, and where they would hold the wedding reception. Nico had been seated at the table with Bastien's family and enjoyed the whole night the delicious food he had helped to choose, the good music, the ridiculous speeches of the people close to the couple, and the enormous amount of non-alcoholic drinks he had been consuming all night long. 

It was close to midnight. His companions had left him at the table a couple of hours ago, some to go to the dance floor and others to return home. He was a mess -with his long hair tied untidy over his head, his white shirt off, his tie and jacket long forgotten- and had too much food in his stomach. He felt lethargic, sleepy after having spent two weeks in the Estates working, only to return the day before to Europe, for the wedding of his best friend whom he could not miss for anything in the world. 

He looked at the clock on his wrist with narrowed eyes and then turned to the dance floor where his friends were slow dancing with their little boy among them, weighing the goodbye to return to his hotel. In the morning he and Sébastien had to work before the older man left for his honeymoon, so he needed to rest for a while. He was about to get out of his chair when a long-nailed hand squeezed his shoulder before Sébastien's younger sister dropped into the chair in front of him, staring at him with frantic eyes and scaring the hell out of him. 

"Charlotte, damn it!" he complained, looking at the girl in surprise. The blonde just laughed, dragging the plate that Niccolò had left with half of his third piece of cake towards her, putting a huge bite in her mouth. 

"Someone is watching you," she said, pointing his fork at her back. Nico frowned and looked up at where the girl was pointing, seeing the table where some friends of Bastien's husband were sitting, not understanding. 

"What?... Who? What are you talking about?"

"The soccer player, he hasn't taken his eyes off you all night." Charlotte smiled at him, moving his eyebrows quickly. Nico wrinkled his face more confused than before, looking back at the table, bumping his eyes with a pair of dark eyes. The man across the room raised his glass in a greeting and winked at him as he took a sip. He looked away quickly, feeling his cheeks burning from being discovered. 

"Oh my God! Did you see him?" asked the girl, opening her blue eyes wide. 

"I still don't understand. Who is that guy?"

"How can you not know him?" Shouted the scandalized girl. Nico grimaced at the high-pitched scream. "He's a friend of James, he plays for Manchester United. But that's not the point."

"No?"

"No, Nico! The guy is single, he's bi and he's been eating you up with his eyes all night. This is your moment!"

"My moment for what?"

"Ugh, Niccolò!" Snarled the blonde patting him on the shoulder, looking very frustrated. "Forget it, you're a hopeless case." Charlotte rolled her eyes and returned to the cake, muttering something in French, too low and too fast for him to understand. 

Nico laughed and took her fork out to take a bite of his own cake, pulling it away from the minor when she tried to take it back. Charlotte seemed to forget about the guy, and for the next two hours, she kept him company and asked him about the photoshoot he and Bastien would do in the morning for a French brand of coats, trying to convince him to take her with them to see them work. The seventeen-year-old teenager dreamed of being a photographer and revealed herself against the family tradition of producing doctors, just like her older brother had done. She always begged Sébastien to take her with him when he had to model, but he ignored her, relegating her to taking the pictures of the art he occasionally did and for which he was best known. 

He was about to fall asleep in his seat, so he made an effort to get up to go to the bathroom before going to the hotel, saying goodbye to Charlotte and asking her to say goodbye to the newlyweds who had disappeared to who knows where. The bathroom was empty for his luck, so he took his needs quickly, eager to get to his soft bed and die in it for a couple of hours. He looked at the watch on his wrist while washing his hands, thinking about whether it would be possible to get a cab at those hours and hope that he wouldn't be kidnapped, or whether he would have to walk through the lonely streets of the city to his hotel and still run the risk of being kidnapped...

"Hello."

"Shit!" He shouted, his heart leaping in his chest when through the mirror, he saw the man Charlotte had been talking about, standing behind him, with his hands in his pants pockets as he stood too close to him,  _ too close _ . "He-hello." He responded, standing up and walking away from the man immediately, looking for the paper towels to dry his hands that were shaking from the fright. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay after your little mishap."

Niccolò blinked in confusion and looked at the man over his shoulder, his hands frozen in the towel dispenser. 

"You stumble in the garden when the ceremony was over." He explained, noticing his confusion. The Italian opened his eyes wide and felt his ears burning. O _ f course _ , the handsome guy who Charlotte said wanted something with him, had been watching him because he had made a fool of himself in front of him. 

"Eh yes, it was nothing really." 

"That's good. Although I figured that since you danced all night and nothing seemed to hurt." The perfect smile appeared again and Nico felt the colors cover his face completely.  _ Oh my fucking God! Had he seen him dance with Bastien's old aunts? _ The man laughed with amusement, guessing his thoughts. "You dance very well, you definitely gave those ladies the time of their lives."

Niccolò nodded, looking away blushing, concentrating on throwing the paper towels he had made into a ball into the trash. He looked at himself in the mirror and untied his hair to tidy it up a bit, trying to ignore the man, but he approached him again, leaning his hip against the marble of the sink and staring at him with those deep black eyes that pierced his soul. 

He took a deep breath and felt a little intimidated by the man's glance, unintentionally inhaling the strong but pleasant aroma of his cologne. His knees weakened and he had to lower his hands to hold himself from the sink to disguise his growing nervousness and slight excitement. 

"I was up all night waiting for the women to let go of you to ask for a turn at the dance session. I guess it's too late to ask now."

"Ah... I'm-I'm sorry, I... I'm leaving." He rushed to respond. No way he would dance with that man, he wasn't about to make a fool out of himself with the hottest guy he'd ever seen. The man nodded, smirking, and looking disappointed as he looked down at his shoes. 

"I guess it will be for the next time." Niccolò nodded and took a step back, trying to imply that he had to leave. The man caught his movement and stood up, offering him his hand in greeting. Nico extended his trembling hand and squeezed it lightly. His heart jumped to his throat as the man pulled him almost to his chest. He gave him a short kiss on the cheek, scraping him with his beard, sliding his lips across his skin into his ear. 

"Kaene Williams." He whispered. He held him for a few more seconds, with his lips stuck to his ear, letting him hear his low breathing, before letting go and passing by him to get out of the bathroom. 

He stood there frozen, breathing heavily, with his face burning, a tingling in his stomach, and his hand still feeling the heat and strength of the man's powerful grip. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


**July 11th, 2006. Boccadasse, Genova, Italy.**

  
  
  
  


" Sei bellissimo. " The boy whispered close to his lips. 

Nico blinked his eyes away, nervous as Enzo came closer, almost brushing his lips with his own. "Look at me, please." The boy asked, his long, slightly trembling fingers holding his chin, forcing him to look up and pay attention to his blue eyes. 

He swallowed nervously, and his breath caught in his throat as Enzo shortened the distance and brought his lips together in a chaste kiss. His first kiss. Enzo tilted his head, pressing more against Niccolo's soft lips, moving slowly, inexpertly, to deepen the kiss. He didn't know what to do, so he stood still as Enzo kissed him and slid his tongue between his lips. It was a strange sensation and not at all as magical as Catalina had described it, but it wasn't bad, he liked it, and he liked it better that it was Enzo who was kissing him.

"I like you very much, Niccolò." The young man whispered as he moved away from his lips, a thin thread of saliva joining them.

"I-I like you too." 

"Do you want to be...?"

"Niccolò, Enzo! What are you two doing there?" Master Fiore's horrified scream broke the magic of the moment. Frightened, he pushed Enzo away from him immediately, yet the woman had already seen the compromising position they were in. "Enzo go back to your class now!" The woman ordered. "And you, come with me." She pointed to Niccolo, turning to go back inside the building.

Enzo looked at him for a few seconds with huge, frightened eyes, a reflection of his own, before running away. Niccolò stood there for a few seconds, leaning against the wall, sighing nervously. He had given his first kiss, in a corner of the school while he was running away from his classes, and with the boy he liked and had been caught in the act, what luck.

He took a deep breath and stood up, following the teacher back to her office.

"Niccolò Cannizzaro, I never expected such deplorable behavior from you."

"Signora, I'm sorry, I know it was wrong but..."

"But nothing young man! This is a decent institution, and that kind of exhibition will not be accepted here." The woman behind the desk stabbed him with her black eyes, the wooden ruler tightly clenched in her fists.

"I know, and I beg your forgiveness, it won't happen again."

"Oh, but of course it won't happen again! I will call your parents right now..."

"Please don't!" He shouted in terror, his father would kill him if he found out what he had been doing instead of attending his classes. "Please, I'll accept any punishment, but don't tell my father, or Enzo's."

Five hours later, as he walked down the hill to the port, the tourists wandering around looked critically at his dusty uniform.

"What happened to you?" His father asked as he rushed inside his small tent, his backpack hanging over one shoulder, his uniform shirt out of his pants, and his sweater clenched in his fists. 

"Nothing." He snarled, going into the backroom to change. From there, he could hear his father's laughter as he cheerfully charged a couple of tourists for the elaborate wooden houses they had bought.

When he was ready, he returned to the front, sitting at his place, waiting for more buyers to arrive while his dad went to the backroom to continue carving some new pieces. He rested his elbow on the counter and his chin on his open palm, sighing boringly. Then he remembered the kiss, Enzo's cold and greedy lips taking up more space than they should, his inexperienced tongue tickling his palate, and his hands clinging to his waist as they kissed for a long minute. 

"Aaah" He sighed again, dreaming.

"What is the price for this?" Asked an old woman in a precarious Italian. Nico jumped into his seat out of his reverie to pay attention to the woman who didn't know when she had entered.

"Three euros." He responded, shaking his head to concentrate and return to work.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


**August 15, 2015. Champ de Mars, Paris, France.**

  
  


Joyce screamed and ran to him kicking the ball. Nico spread his legs and let the ball pass through them, screaming in agony and defeat as the boy ran around him screaming goal and celebrating his victory. He laughed loudly and went to get the ball, kicking it away for Joyce to go get it. 

"Are you sure you can take care of him? He seems nice, but it can be a lot of work." Sébastien looked at him over his sunglasses, with a questioning arching eyebrow. 

"Yes, of course." He nodded, barely paying attention as he crouched between his makeshift goal to keep Joyce from scoring another goal.

"I'm serious, Nico. I can get a babysitter."

"No, Booker. I told you I want to spend more time with my nephew." The blond man frowned at the nickname but nodded, rising from the grass where he had been sitting to watch his son play with his uncle. 

"Well, I'm off then."

"Papa, regarde!" The boy shrieked, tossing the ball in the air to bounce it off his head. 

"Impressive love, but be careful not to hit yourself too hard."

"Oncle Nico's boyfriend taught me how to do that." Said the boy, dropping the ball on the ground to keep kicking it. 

Sébastien arched an eyebrow toward his friend, but he ignored him and turned his attention to Joyce. "Didn't you say the meeting was at two o'clock?" He asked, deflecting the attention from him, not in the mood to explain. 

"Yes, but these guys are weird, so I'd better get there early."

"Tell me again who you are going to paint for." He requested, looking at his friend with a scowl. The sun was very strong, and he had forgotten his glasses like the idiot he was. Luckily he hadn't forgotten to wear sunscreen, or he would look like a shrimp in the afternoon. 

"Ah, for the owner of the gallery Amal al-Hassen. The guy is a little eccentric and wants me to do graffiti representing his mother on one of the walls of the gallery he opened in her name." He explained with a frown, not understanding yet why anyone would want in a gallery full of ancient art, a graffiti, and feeling very uncomfortable about ruining something that surely had a lot of meaning. 

"And if it bothers you to work for them, why did you accept?"

"For the money of course. You know James and I aren't doing very well, and first dead before I let my mother find out about it, and lecture me again with the,  _ 'You should have been a doctor like everyone else in the family.' _ I'm fucking done with that." Sébastien rolled his eyes and grabbed his bag from the grass.

Niccolò pressed his lips together, nodding understandingly. 

"Anyway, I'm off. Joyce, come give papa a kiss." He called to the boy, bending over with open arms. The little boy ran to him immediately, jumping into his arms to give him a big hug. "Oh! Je t'aime, mon bébé!" He hugged his little boy tightly for a few more seconds, kissed him on his wild curls, and finally left him on the floor. "Be good to oncle Nico, ok?"

"Oui papa. Je t'aime aussi." The boy stood beside him, holding his uncle's hand as they watched the blond man walk through the garden into the street. 

They played a game of tag a little longer before the boy got tired, and they had to take a moment to drink water and decide what to do next. 

"Do you want to go grab some pizza?" He asked the boy as he put the water bottle and the ball in the boy's backpack. 

"Yes, yes, yes, pizza!" He shouted in agreement, bouncing on his feet and shaking his long brown curls more. Nico laughed heartily at the boy's enthusiasm and stood up, holding the small backpack over his shoulder and then grabbing the boy's hand to carry them out to find food. Joyce pulled his hand, hastening him to walk, saying he would starve if they did not hurry, and Nico grimaced, containing a groan of pain as the pull on his arm made his shoulder and bruised ribs hurt. 

After spending a lot of time in Paris on intermittent trips, he had found a place where pizza was not a horrible imitation made with canned ingredients and had become his favorite restaurant in the city. That the owner of the place was a Genoves had nothing to do with it, of course. 

They sat at a small table near the window, talking about the latest chapter of Joyce's favorite cartoons while waiting for the food to be ready. His phone vibrated in his jeans, and as Joyce talked non-stop, he pulled out the phone and looked under the table. 

> **_You better not tell anything to your little friend, or you will regret it._ **

A shiver ran through him, his heart racing, and he felt nausea come up in his throat. His hands trembled as he squeezed the phone, his eyes filled with tears as he reread the words on the broken screen of his phone, watching his messaging section, that was suddenly filled with such messages. 

"Oncle, are you okay? Are you crying?" Joyce asked, and Niccolò jumped up, unable to see the child. With his hands still shaking, he wiped away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks and nodded quickly, cursing inwardly for letting Joyce see him like this. 

"Sì, sì, amore. Tutto bene."

The boy looked at him with his clever-hazel eyes like his father's, who made him feel like he knew all his secrets, and nodded, going back to his peroration about cartoons. Nico sighed and squeezed the phone tightly without looking at it, quickly putting it in his pocket when the waitress arrived with their smoky, deliciously smelling pizza. 

He smiled at Joyce and served him a slice, telling himself that this was not the time or place for his dark thoughts. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


**July 20th, 2009. Boccadasse, Genova, Italy.**

  
  
  
  
  


"Here you go, Nico, have a nice day." The woman at the post office handed him his sealed envelope with a friendly smile. Nico smiled back at her, feeling the nerves swirling in his stomach when he saw the stamp of the University of Milan in a corner, it was the message he had been waiting for weeks.

With shaky legs he left the post office, almost tripping over an older man who was coming in. He apologized for his clumsiness and walked back to his house, waving to the homeless man who slept outside his building and to whom he sometimes gave his lunch, hiding from his father who, if he found out, would scold him for days because there was not enough food for the two of them to give to anyone else. 

The envelope shook in his hands as he slid the knife open. He sighed shakily, squeezing his eyes as he slid the papers out of the envelope, screaming at himself to be brave and see the damn thing for once. He left the envelope on the table and looked at the papers finally, carefully reading the words printed on it.

A scream of pure happiness escaped his chest, so loud that it frightened Carbonara, who was sleeping peacefully in his corner and the pair of pigeons that had a nest on the kitchen window sill. He didn't care and left the house, jumping down the old stairs and running towards the port.

"Papà, papà!" he shouted, rushing to the store, scaring the customers. He didn't care much and slipped into the backroom where his father was collecting a pile of wooden houses that would surely belong to the customers waiting outside.

"Nico, my boy, what's all the fuss about?" asked the man, between surprised and scared.

"They accepted me! I've been accepted to the University. I'm going to Milano!" He shrieked, tossing the acceptance letter into the air so he could hug his dad. The man was shocked for a few seconds before reacting, dropping his crafts on the floor to hug his son back. 

"Oh Nico, piccolo mio, tesoro, I'm so happy for you." 

They hugged for a few minutes, lost in their world of happiness, before a shout from outside the store made them separated, both with watery eyes. 

Niccolò knew how proud and excited his father was by this acceptance. The man had worked hard every day since they arrived in Genova to give his son everything, to ensure him a future worth living and better than the one he had had. He knew that this achievement meant more to the man than to himself, and he promised himself at that moment that he would do everything in his power to always make the man proud. 

Standing in the middle of the platform, with the handle of his suitcase clenched in one hand and the train ticket in the other, he looked at his father's wrinkled face with watery eyes.

"I don't want to leave you."

"You must, Nico, it's a unique opportunity."

"But...

"Come on, piccolino, I'll be fine, besides, Carbonara will keep me company." The man raised the fat and heavy golden cat in his arms to emphasize his point.

Nico sipped and smiled with a pout, extending his hand to caress the cat's fur. 

"I'm going to miss you guys a lot." He whispered, about bursting into tears.

"And we will miss you, but you have to go and find your own life, amore, I'll always be here waiting for you." 

Niccolò couldn't take it anymore and threw himself into his father's arms, hugging the man like an octopus without caring about the moans of Carbonara being crushed between the two of them.

The voice on the loudspeakers announced the departure of the train to Milano in five minutes and made them walk away. "Now, stop crying boy, you are going to miss the train." His father walked away and dragged his suitcase, pushing him into the boarding area of the train. 

Niccolò threw himself into his father's arms one last time before getting on the train. The trip to Milano was relatively short but long enough for him to cry as he watched the landscape pass through his window.

When he got off the train at the Stazione di Milano Centrale, the sadness of leaving his father and his whole life behind was replaced by the panic of finding himself in a huge city that was completely unknown to him. He looked around at the people moving around him, running back and forth in the station, and never felt more like a peasant than at that moment. 

Getting his courage up, he grabbed his suitcase and left the place, feeling the crumpled bills he had left from the little his father had been able to give him after paying for the expensive ticket, hoping that it would be enough to pay for a cab ride to the Università degli Studi di Milano and to his new life. 

  
  
  
  
  


_ To be continued…. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, Nicky's background is a little complicated, and it's gonna get worst! 
> 
> Next chapter: Who is Yusuf al-Kaysani? 
> 
> I don't have a posting date for that one, but probably two weeks, let's hope is less!
> 
> I did a little moodboard for this chapter, you can find it in my  tumblr 
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter, but remember, be respectful!
> 
> Love you guys, see you soon xx

**Author's Note:**

> And? was it good or pure shit? just let me know, but remember, be respectful or you will feel my anger. 
> 
> First chapter will be up in exactly FIVE DAYS (I'm really nervous about that one). 
> 
> Love u, have a nice day xx


End file.
